Hell Hath No Fury
by featherythings
Summary: A tale as old as time. A warning they all should have heeded. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. AU/OOC.
1. The Awakening

A|N: If you've seen this story before, it's because I had it published under a former pen name-anamariewest. I'm putting it back up out of mild curiosity and because I can't seem to let this one go. It's my baby. This is an edited version. If you guys like it as much as you liked the other one, I'll keep it going. If not, I'll hang it up. I may put the original story back up so you guys can compare and contrast.

 _DISCLAIMER:_ _I do not own Twilight or anything dealing with the Twilight Saga. All credits go to Stephanie Meyer and her Little Brown publishers.  
Note: this story deals with various forms of abuse and suicidal thoughts. It also contains adult language, nudity/sex, and mild violence. It is rated M for mature audiences._

* * *

" _Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned_ "  
— William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

 **PREFACE: Conflicted, pt. 1**

I'm at war with myself—caught between bowing out and doing as I'm told and standing up for what I think—for what I _know_ —is right. My mind is conflicted. Do I follow the path that was laid out for me so long ago, or do I make my own? I already know the outcomes of either choice.

If I follow my destiny, millions of my kind survive. They will be safe, free, and happy.

But if I stray from the path chosen for me, _I_ survive. My _family_ survives.

"Whatever you choose to do, I stand with you," he says. His tone is firm and filled with unrelenting determination. I don't doubt him. "Tell me what you want to do, and we'll do it."

He comes to stand behind me and places his hands on my shoulders, resting his chin on top of my head. I connect eyes with him through the mirror I'm standing in front of and frown.

I realized a long time ago what I had to do. Why am I questioning myself now? Why am I so uncertain _now_?

"It's okay to be afraid. It's okay to question whether what you're doing is the right thing. It's okay to be confused and unsure," he says, his dark eyes staring into mine with such intensity that I almost look away. "But when the time comes, a decision has to be made."

* * *

 _1  
The Awakening _

Day 1

Fire is coursing through my veins. It's cooking me from the inside out, and all I want to do is scream, but I can't. The morphine that was injected into my bloodstream has left me paralyzed. The only thing I can do is lay here and face my agony in silence.

I am in Hell.

Day 4

I don't know how many days have passed. The fire makes it difficult to concentrate on anything that isn't pain, so I eventually stop trying to count the passing minutes and try to convince myself that it will all be over soon.

That's when I remember Hell is eternal.

Day 7

I hear voices all around me now. They're muffled and speak a language I've never heard before, so I can't make out what they're saying.

I'm not even sure they're real.

Day 10

Over and over again I tell myself I should be thankful to them. I should be thankful for all the love and kindness they've shown me. I should be thankful because they saved me.

That's what they had done, right? They saved me. They saved me from his corruption, from my parents, and from myself. They took me in, protected me, kept me sheltered, loved me, and accepted me as their own even though we couldn't have been any more different if we had tried to be.

Even though they've sent me to Hell, I should be thankful because I will have an everlasting life.

They're my family, and what I'm doing to them is wrong.

Day 12

As the fire continues to spread, getting closer and closer to my heart until I'm sure it's going to explode, I come to the conclusion that they don't deserve any gratitude or forgiveness. They don't deserve the benefit of the doubt or unwavering loyalty or anything good. Not from me, at least.

Day 15

"How much longer is this going to take?" someone yells. He's one of the men that has been coming by to see me, but I don't know his name. He doesn't tell me that. His voice is usually as soft as I imagine clouds to be, and his words are as sweet as honey. Today, he is almost unrecognizable. His voice is sandpaper, his words as ruthless as a tornado mercilessly making its way through a family's home and destroying everything in its path. "You said four days! God, I knew you wouldn't be much help, but I didn't realize you'd be _this_ fucking useless—worthless."

I don't know the voice that answers him.

"I told you that time frame wasn't set in stone," they say, much calmer than he is.

I realize immediately that the person speaking is a woman, and I'm overcome with jealousy. It crashes over me in thick, unforgiving waves that drag me out into a sea of anger.

 _Who is she? Why is she here? He's mine!_

My thoughts leave me confused. How can he be mine when I don't even know who he is?

"She was supposed to be ready in three days, but something's changed," the woman says, and I can hear a frown in her tone. "I can't get inside her head to be sure, but I think she's protecting herself…"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How in the hell is she 'protecting herself'? That makes no sense. You know what? I think you should get the fuck—"

"Newborns, specifically those who have faced a great deal of trauma in their lives prior to their turn, force themselves into a comatose state. They suffer all the consequences of going through the transition, but they never…they never wake up. They can't," she explains. "At least, they're not supposed to. They become lost inside their minds—stuck in a never ending cycle of consciousness and unconsciousness. They have their moments of clarity, but mostly they're lost to their confusion. These newborns were either burned to death or torn apart and sold in pieces. They were deemed useless, so we stopped treating them like they had ever been people. I like to call them Conscientiam Alienae. Get it? Because they're state of conscious is alien to me. Well, I thought it was funny."

There's a long pause.

He sounds skeptical when he speaks next. "Why haven't I heard of this until now? Does Carlisle know about this?"

"It isn't common knowledge. The majority of us outside of Europe have never heard of it, especially those under two hundred. There are a few journals about it in the Volturi library, but the brothers are very…selective when it comes to sharing information," she tells him. "And I would imagine that Carlisle does know about them, yes. From what I've heard, he and the brothers were close once upon a time. I don't think this is something they would keep from him."

"How did you become one of the few people to know about this?"

"I have my sources."

There's another long pause after she finishes speaking. I expect him to continue talking about this "Conscientiam Alienae" when the silence is broken, to demand more of an explanation, but he doesn't.

"So, what are you saying? Bella is one of those things? She's 'lost to her confusion'?" he asks. He's quiet now—worried, I think. "Are you…You don't think she's coming back?"

She says, "No. I believe that there's a way to bring them back. I believe that if you give them a reason to live, they'll come back. I believe that if you talk to them and remind them of all the good things that happened in their lives, they'll have no choice but to come back." She stops talking for a moment. When she begins again, her voice sounds further away but still rings clear. "The chances of her coming back to you are small, but they're there. I know they are."

Day 17

 _Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward._

The name sends a chill down my spine.

 _Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward._

I don't know who Edward is, but he's the only thing that's been on my mind.

When I try hard enough, I can picture him: bronze hair and honey gold eyes protected by thick, long lashes. He's tall and wears a crooked grin that makes my insides churn.

He's familiar and a stranger all at once.

I don't want to think about him anymore, but I can't help it. He refuses to leave my head.

 _Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward._

I think we're lovers.

I think I'm supposed to love him, but I don't know if I do. I don't know if I should. The thought of him makes my skin crawl.

 _Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward._

He loves me.

I know he loves me because he tells me every time he comes to see me.

"Come back to me, love," he whispers in my ear. "I need you here."

 _Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward._

He presses his lips to mine, and I want to scream because I don't think this is supposed to be happening.

His hand moves to rest on my thigh, his fingertips tracing large circles on my skin, and for a second I think I do manage to scream as the sound of ripping fabric reaches my ears.

 _Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward, please. Edward, no!_

Day 20

I keep screaming and screaming and screaming, but they don't listen.

I keep trying to wake up, but my eyes won't open.

He comes by to see me every day. He spends his time begging me to wake up—to live.

I scream so loud my throat begins to hurt, but he continues talking, anyway.

He can't hear me because I'm still lost in my mind.

I am Conscientiam Alienae.

 _I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!_

"Bella, I need you to come back to me. I need you to be strong and come back to me, Bella," he says. When he speaks next, his lips are pressed firmly against my ear, and he's gripping my hand so tight, I'm momentarily afraid he's going to break it. " _He_ needs you."

Who is "he"? Edward? Does Edward need me? Do I need Edward?

I wish I could remember. I wish I could wake up and tell him that I'm here.

 _I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!_

"We all need you, Bella. We need you to remember how you got here," he tells me, his voice firm and leaving me to think I don't have a choice. "You heard what she said. You have to have a reason to fight—a will to live. So you have to remember. You have to remember, and you have to come back to set things right."

 _I'm here._

 _I'm here._

 _I'm here._

 _I'm here._

Day 23

When I was young, maybe five or six, my dad would take me to the movies every Friday night. My mom hated that because "who in their right mind would take a child to a movie at night on a Friday?" He continued to take me, anyway.

My favorite part about going was never the movie, but the people. They were a beautiful blend of sizes, cultures, personalities, and looks, and I loved watching them all interact.

To this day, I can vividly remember one woman in particular. She was tall with long, thick dark hair that fell in perfect curls down her back and glowing dark brown skin. She had hazel eyes and a blinding smile. I can remember thinking she was the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen in my young life.

I can also remember the look of pure terror that came over her expression when her boyfriend pushed her to the ground and began yelling at her with words that I will never dare to repeat. I can recall the other moviegoers gathering around and shouting out profanity-laced warnings as the boyfriend raised his giant fist while my dad dragged me away. He said, "You'll be smarter than that."

My response?

"Of course I will."

Day 25

There is only darkness.

Day 30

I remember.


	2. The Mourning

" _The whole world can become the enemy when you lose what you love."_

— Kristina McMorris, Bridge of Scarlet Leaves

 **PREFACE: Conflicted, pt. 2**

I move away from the mirror to stand in front of our balcony doors. Through the glass windows, I can see my family lounging in our backyard, talking quietly amongst themselves. Despite everything that's happened, they look happy.

 _One wrong decision, and I ruin everything for them._

I don't want to be the one who has to decide anything for anyone, but if I don't do it, who will?

I sigh and turn to face my mate. He's sitting on the edge of our bed now with open arms. I climb in to them without hesitation, needing the comfort of his touch. He closes his arms around me and pulls me forward until there's not even an inch of space between our bodies—we are one. I sigh again, resting my head in the crook of his neck. He begins to rub my back, and I relax almost immediately.

I know he's waiting for some sort of response to his words, but I'm hesitant to give him one. I don't want to make promises I'm not confident I can keep.

"When the time comes, a decision will be made."

* * *

 _2  
The Mourning_

When I open my eyes for the first time in what feels like years, I'm met with gold, curious stares. Every bone in my body tenses immediately, and a low growl rumbles deep within my chest. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm off the wooden desk I've been placed on and crouched in a corner, teeth barred. I'm prepared to defend myself.

I know these people standing before me, but I don't trust them. I know what they've done, and I'll never let them do it again.

"Bella, love," he says quietly. He takes a step forward, and my growling increases. He returns back to his original spot and smiles. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. They're not going to hurt you. We're you're family. We just want to take care of you."

I stare at him for a long time. His smile is kind, his eyes warm and inviting, but I'm not fooled. He's putting on a good show, but I know the monster he's capable of being—I've met him. When he steps forward again, I crouch lower. I know what I'm supposed to be doing, but all I can think about is tearing him apart then running the hell away from this place.

"Bella, it's me. Edward. Don't you remember me at all?" he asks. "Don't you remember them?"

Behind him, the others stand stiff as boards. Slowly, I rise out of my crouched position and lock eyes with each of them. Carlisle and Esme look worried—terrified, almost—and I like that. They're afraid of me—afraid of what I may know, and they should be. Alice's eyes are wide, as if she's surprised to see me. I want to ask her how a seer could be surprised, but I refrain. The longer I stare at her, the stronger the urge to attack her becomes, so I look to Emmett, who has his arms wrapped firmly around his mate's waist. Together, they stare back at me with cold, uncaring eyes, and I feel my heart fall from my chest.

Out of all the betrayal, theirs is by far the worst.

"Yes," I finally say, giving my attention back to Edward. For a moment, I'm stunned back into silence. The voice that has just left my mouth isn't my own. It's much more feminine—higher and bell-like. It's sweet and soft, like Alice and Rosalie's. I don't like it. "I remember now."

Edward is my boyfriend—my mate. Carlisle and Esme are my makeshift parents. Alice, Emmett, and Rosalie are my siblings, and I'm Bella, the newest addition to their clan—their family. I'm their new daughter, sister, lover, and friend. At least, that's how things were in the beginning.

Now, I'm merely their puppet, and though I have already straightened my stance, my bones are still tense, ready to uncoil and send me flying forward at any second to fight—to kill, avenge myself. I can't do that just yet, though, so I force myself to relax.

"You're my family."

The relief Edward feels at my words is evident on his face. He gives me a crooked grin in response and says, "We are. We most certainly are. Bella, can I hug you?"

He's standing in front of me before I can even get my mouth open, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest. One of his hands move to rest on my lower back, and I go stiff in his arms.

A scream is sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I don't let it out. I can't. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and return the hug. My insides churn, but I don't pull away until Edward does.

"I love you," he whispers, giving me an even wider grin than before. His lips are on mine a second later. Just as I consider biting him, Esme interrupts.

"Okay, okay," she says from behind him, laughing softly. Edward steps away from me and turns to face Esme, and I assume he's giving her his infamous glare. Esme only shrugs. "You two can get reacquainted later. Right now, I'm sure Bella is quite hungry."

Her words turn my attention to a burning in the back of my throat, and my hand flies to my neck. I grimace and swallow back the venom now pooling in my mouth, which only makes the burn worse. I don't know how I failed to notice this before, but I know I'll never be able to again.

"Starving," I mutter.

Esme sends me a sympathetic smile before turning to face the others, ushering them away from the door. "Let her through. Edward, dear, you have to go with her, of course."

* * *

I kill a total of 46 animals.

19 deer. 13 foxes. 8 rabbits. 6 squirrels.

When I was a human, I wasn't a vegetarian. I ate meat, and I liked it. Now, though, I feel awful—gross, even. Maybe it's because I didn't just eat these creatures; I tortured them. I slaughtered them. I tore them apart with my bare hands and painted the forest with their insides. I sunk my teeth into their flesh and drained them. When that wasn't enough, I licked my fingers clean and then moved on to the next poor creature that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I kept killing and killing and killing until I thought my stomach was going to explode, and even then I wasn't satisfied. As I finished my last squirrel, I realized I would never be truly satisfied again.

Maybe I feel awful because my actions proved my humanity is gone. They showcase the monster they've turned me into. I never would have done this when I was human. I could have never been this cruel. I didn't have the stomach or the strength.

After I bury the last carcass, I simply lay there on the ground and stare at the dirt. I want to mourn for the lives I have taken today, but I can't. I'm not human anymore, so I can't cry. The sound of leaves and twigs being crushed begins to fill my ears, and my body stiffens. My fight or flight instincts have gone into overdrive, but I can't decide which is best. I haven't forgotten that he's here, but thinking of all the animals I've killed makes it easier to pretend I'm not being guarded.

"Your emotions become stronger after you're turned," Edward says from behind me. "More intense. You may have felt bad about eating meat as a human, but now you feel awful. You're consumed with your guilt and whatever else you may feel in addition to that. It'll be that way with everything. The emotion you feel most is the emotion that'll have more control over you."

That explains why it was so hard for me to focus on anything else but lunging at him and the rest of the coven earlier. It also explains why I was able to stay calm and relaxed. My anger made me want to hurt them, but my determination to make them pay kept me focused on the bigger picture.

"Eventually, you'll figure out how to control them. Obviously, you can't make them go away, and you can't make them any less intense, but you'll be able to live with them and focus on other things besides them."

That I highly doubt. I can't imagine feeling anything but this crushing remorse ever again.

"Stand up, Bella. I understand what you're going through, but we can't stay here forever. If you're finished here, we have to return home. There are still a lot of things that need to be discussed."

I'm not ready to leave, so I don't stand immediately. I don't know how I can leave when I haven't grieved properly.

"Now, Bella. I won't tell you again," Edward snaps.

Reluctantly, I rise from the ground and access myself. The pretty blue dress I was placed in is shredded, and I'm completely covered in mud, blood, and matted fur. I look and smell like shit, which appropriately matches my mood.

Edward's eyes roam over my body. "I suppose we'll have to put our discussion off a little while longer." He grimaces. "You need a shower."

As we begin the walk back to the manor, I can't help but look back at the damage I've caused one last time.

The 46 burials will haunt me forever.

* * *

When I'm placed in front of a mirror for the first time since I've woken up, I'm immediately disgusted with what I see. My hair is terribly matted and caked with dirt and blood, and there are pieces of grass and small, thin sticks tangled with what looks to be every strand. The longer I stare at it, the more I'm reminded of a bird's nest. My face is a disaster, coated in drying blood and pieces of my hair. The pink lipstick that had been painted on my lips is smeared across my cheek, mingling with the smudges of mud there. However, what has me most disgusted is not my appearance, but my eyes. My eyes are silver with tiny flecks of gold and red loitering about. I hate them. If could pluck them out of their sockets and throw them away, I would. I loved my eyes more than anything else when I was human, but now they're fake—unnatural.

Esme mistakes my obvious discomfort for disappointment with my appearance, saying I'll feel better about myself once I've showered and changed. I open my mouth to correct her, but I quickly think better of that. I don't think she would react kindly to my implying her family made me a monster.

"Maybe," I say in response before I step into the shower.

Esme suggests that she help me, and though I refuse, she insists on turning the water on, so I reluctantly allow her to do that.

As soon as she turns the knob, I know Esme was dead wrong in her assessment. Showering will not make me feel better. I knew she was wrong when she said it, but having it confirmed is like a slap in the face.

I don't like the way the water feels against my skin. It isn't warm, and it isn't cold. It's nothing. I feel nothing but its weight, and I hate that. My body is tense, and now I have nothing to relax it.

I don't like the way the shampoo bottle bursts open in my hand when I squeeze it. I don't like the way the bar of soap crumbles to pieces in my palm when I pick it up. I don't like the way my washcloth tears when I try to scrub my body clean, and I don't like the way the shower handle rips off the wall when I go to turn the water off.

I don't like that Esme has to help me towel off and dress. I don't like that Alice has free reign to do whatever she wants with my hair because I can't pick up a brush without crushing it.

When I'm told to look in the mirror again, I don't like what I see. I don't like my porcelain skin. I don't like the way my hair flows down my back perfectly in chunky curls. I don't like the way my eyeliner and smokey-eye have been applied so neatly, and I don't like my crimson lips. I don't like the way the beautiful gold dress Esme placed me in hugs my curves in a way that makes me feel like the dress was tailored specifically for me, which I have no doubt it was. I don't like the way it sparkles. I don't even like the gold Converse Esme had the decency to give me.

When I'm finally able to take a seat, I find I don't like the way they look at me, either.

I don't like anything anymore, and I fear that will always be the case.

"Bella, how are you feeling?" Carlisle asks.

There's a pregnant pause, and everyone seems to shoot Carlisle a look of bewilderment. I think we're all thinking the same thing: _are you insane?_

"Okay, I guess," I say.

Carlisle smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm sorry. I suppose that was a silly question. I don't have to imagine how you're feeling—I've been there. We all have."

I want to tell him that he has no idea where I'm at—none of them do—but I don't. I can't. So, I remain silent, having nothing else to say.

"Bella," Esme says, interrupting whatever Carlisle wanted to say next. She takes his hand in hers and smiles at him before turning her eyes to me. "Carlisle is just trying to understand where you're at mentally right now. Aside from needing work on the way you handle things, you're quite controlled, and that's quite unusual. Plus, your memories seem to be pretty intact, which is very uncommon. We're all curious to know what you're thinking and what all you remember from before your transformation."

For a moment, as they stare at me with a level of intensity that almost has me convinced I'm going to break out into a sweat, I don't know what to say. No. I know what I have to say, what I need to say, but I don't know if I want to say that. I don't know if I should say anything at all. Anything that comes out of my mouth will only be a lie, which makes me no better than them.

Suddenly, I'm exhausted. My brain is tired, and I feel like my head is going to explode any second now. If I didn't know any better, I would say I have a migraine.

"I'm sorry. Can we do this another time?" I ask. They're standing from their seats before I even finish. "I'm…I don't know. I just need to lay down or something right now. Please."

"Of course!" Carlisle tells me, grimacing. "I'm sorry as well, Bella. I should have known better than to try and have this discussion now. I'm sure you're overwhelmed beyond belief right now. We can talk whenever you're ready."

I nod and stand from my chair. I fidget under their unrelenting stares, balling my hands into tight fists to keep them away from my dress. If I start picking at it, there would be nothing left of the garment.

Someone, I assume Esme, clears their throat, and then Edward says, "I'll take you to our room."

The thought of being alone in such a closed space with Edward makes me want to puke, but he has his hand around my wrist and is leading me out of the living room and up the stairs before I can decided whether or not disagreeing with him is the best thing.

"God, you don't know how much I've missed you," he says once we're alone, shutting the door behind us.

I'm standing in the middle of his all too familiar room, paralyzed by fear. The last time I was here begins to play over and over in my head, and I want to run, but I don't dare move. I know what happens when I move.

He walks idly around the room for a while, humming quietly to himself as he looks over all the music on his shelf. Once he's found something he likes, he places a CD into his radio and smiles as the first notes begin to fill the room. It isn't until he's standing in front of me that I realize I've stopped breathing.

"Relax." His voice is a soft, sweet whisper trying to lure me under a blanket of false security. He places his hands on my hips and pulls me close. Though his voice is still a whisper, there's a familiar edge to it when he speaks again that fills me with dread. "Relax. You're with me now. You have nothing else to worry about."

In the blink of an eye, I'm laying on his bed. He's pushing my legs open with more force than is necessary, and I'm breathing again in labored gasps. When he rips my dress off, I open my mouth to scream, but his lips are on mine instantly, silencing me. He uses one hand to pin my wrists above my head while the other comes to sit on my thigh. My body goes stiff. The scream I'd been prepared to release is stuck in my throat when he lifts his head to stare down at me. I stare into his black eyes and get lost, taken back to a place I thought I'd escaped—a place I thought couldn't and wouldn't exist once I was a vampire who was as strong and indestructible as he was.

His hand moves down my hip slowly, and soon the tips of his fingers are slipping under the hem of my underwear. He smiles. "I've missed being inside you, love." He grips my bottoms and then rips them off, exposing me.

I whimper, and his smile widens. I know he's under the impression that I'm feeling something for him other than pure terror.

"Happy to hear you've missed me, too."

Once he firmly presses against me so I'm forced to feel his erection through his jeans, I resign myself to my fate. He's groaning and whispering vile things in my ear as he prepares to remove his jeans when he suddenly freezes. I hear footsteps shortly after. Then there's a firm knock on his door. They don't speak, but Edward does.

"I don't care," he growls. "I don't need to."

When he gets off me with an angry "Fine!" and tosses a cover over my naked body, it isn't relief that overcomes me but shame. Even when I'm a thousand steps ahead of him, I'm still at his control. I sit up as he heads for the door. I'm tempted to grab the blanket and wrap it around me tighter, but my fear of ripping it and leaving myself even more exposed than I already am keeps me from doing so.

"It's not like she'll be alone," Emmett says when the door is opened. He looks over Edward's head to stare at me but takes his eyes off me almost as soon as he spots me, and I assume it's my state of undress that makes him look away. "Rosalie and I are here."

"Whatever."

Edward pushes past his brother roughly, knocking him into the wall, and that's the moment my relief sets in because I realize Edward is leaving. Emmett stays where he is and doesn't say anything else until Edward and the others have left—even then he doesn't speak for a long time.

When he does speak, he doesn't look at me. "Are you okay?"

I shrug. I know he doesn't care, so I won't bother to mention the growing misery inside of me. "Sure."

"Do you need anything?"

I shake my head.

"Bella, I—'" He stops, his breath catching in his throat. "Never mind."

I sigh and lay back down, rolling over onto my side and curling in to myself. Talking to Emmett makes me sad and even more exhausted than before, so I ask him to go.

"I just want to be alone."

* * *

When Edward and the others return, Emmett tells them I've asked to be alone and advises Edward to give me at least a day to myself. That upsets him.

"Considering she's my mate and not yours, I think I know what's best for her," Edward yells. There's an almost deafening crash before he continues. "And I know being alone is not what's best for her. If I want to see her, I can, and I do, so I will!"

"Give the girl a break, Edward. She just woke up from a month of burning. The last thing she needs is you breathing down her neck," Rosalie snaps. "She's overwhelmed enough as it is."

More things are thrown, and heated words are exchanged, but Edward relents after Carlisle agrees that giving me space is what's best.

Though I'm thankful that I'll be left alone, I'm annoyed that they're still making decisions for me.

Edward starts fussing again about something I don't care about, so I place my hands over my ears and try to drown out the sound of his voice. When I start thinking about everything that's happened since I woke up into my new life, it isn't hard. What comes over me is all consuming, blocking all my other senses so I have no choice but to feel it. This feeling is different from how I felt earlier in the day after killing the animals. Though the remorse, shame, and guilt are still there, this feeling that's taken over now is much worse. This feeling is pure sadness.

I want to mourn for the soul I've lost—for the humanity that was violently stolen from me—but I'm not human anymore. I no longer have the option.


End file.
